the well

 I wrote these words some time ago as I reflected on the question ” for what purpose do I blog”.  I was wanting to rekindle this place of expression and found myself connecting this story.  
Once upon a time a windswept and painterly girl fell into a great hole of solitary sadness and weeping. Though many tried loyally to throw her a rope her suddenly clumsy hands could not hold the fibre for long enough to climb. It seemed slippery as a silken strand of silver lining. She tried to weave herself a shawl to fly on, a basket to sail away in, a raft of stitches and baked up a magical cake. But alas, she was doomed to stay in the midnight shadow for many days and many nights with broken body and bound heart.

Some nights the stars seemed closer and she could almost see the moon. Some days the sun did seem to rise just for her once more. Those days she captured what she could of life’s gifts and in golden ink scribed them into her magical tome with ink illustrations, and these pages and pictures became a scaffold of good memories to rise her up. A sturdy reminder that her life had beauty and light and gifts and company, a place to reach out shyly to the world with her gifts of word, colour and pictures.
The hole she was in, seemed to floor itself up under her and rose her until she could once more see the ground beneath her souls. One plank at a time a new frame is made. Sometimes she sits on the edge of the well of dark sorrow and sometimes she floats amongst it’s thick insidious air, and when she finally returns she will gasp for air and lay upon the blossom strewn grass giving thanks that these days pass.

 Roselinde 

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